


look, yonder! a milkshake flies!

by petalprose



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group A [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BT Tower Telephone, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Do It With Style Telephone Event (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalprose/pseuds/petalprose
Summary: It's a nice morning in the South Downs. Aziraphale and Crowley step into their kitchen, and their blender shoots milkshake at them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group A [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937791
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	look, yonder! a milkshake flies!

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Angel food cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648665) by [elf_on_the_shelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf). 



The second Aziraphale and Crowley step foot in their kitchen, they get a good helping of mango-flavoured milkshake straight across their faces.

For a moment Aziraphale is frozen, completely stunned. Slowly, he raises the hand not holding Crowley’s to his face, wiping off the drink. He doesn’t have to look to know that Crowley is sampling the ‘shake right off his own cheek.

Aziraphale identifies the loudly whirring culprit in the next heartbeat. Their blender is running, but— “Crowley, you’ve left the blender lid off,” he cries, then ducks under an incoming blob of milkshake.

“Yeah, thanks, I don’t know what I’d do without you, angel,” says Crowley. He snaps his fingers to switch off the blender in the middle of speaking, then leans down to peck Aziraphale’s temple. Another snap and he’s got both himself and Aziraphale cleaned up.

Aziraphale smiles at him, a tad harried but mostly grateful. “Thank you, dear.”

“Mhmm,” says Crowley, aiming for nonchalant and completely missing the mark. “Yeah. ‘s nothing.” Remembering himself, he strides forward, once more taking Aziraphale’s hand as he goes. “Right, so, breakfast, yeah?” He pulls out Aziraphale’s chair with a flourish, gesturing as grandly as he can at it with his free hand.

“Breakfast, yes,” says Aziraphale, ridiculously endeared. He takes the seat, releasing Crowley’s hand as he does. “And where is it exactly, might I ask?”

“Oh, well,” says Crowley. “Yes, the food,” says Crowley. “Well, you see,” says Crowley.

Notably, he does not, in fact, say where the food is. Aziraphale frowns at him. “Did you bring me over here before you finished?” he asks. “What’s happened to your surprise?”

“Well, you woke up earlier than I thought you would,” says Crowley, defending himself. He moves over to the worktop and produces the lid of the blender from thin air, fitting it onto the blender. He stays faced away from Aziraphale as he moves over to the hob, checking on what’s cooking. By the smell, Aziraphale can tell he’s making crepes. “I didn’t want to be standing here cooking alone if I could very easily just pick up my already awake angel. And I was hoping the milkshake would distract you enough that you wouldn’t notice.”

Aziraphale gives him a Look. “You mean to say you planned for that milkshake missile?”

“Nice alliteration, angel,” says Crowley. He pokes at what is most likely crepes with a spatula and turns back to face Aziraphale. “No, I didn’t plan it,” he adds when he sees Aziraphale’s unimpressed gaze hasn’t let up. He isn’t even trying to be convincing, the smile on his face unrestrained.

“I should have known,” Aziraphale says, shaking his head in mock reproach. “The range of that shot was simply too impressive to not have had outside influence.”

Crowley grins at him. “Why, thank you,” he says, and bows theatrically.

“Fiend,” says Aziraphale, without any real bite. “Remind me again why I’m here, putting up with your shenanigans when I could be comfortably settled in our bed with a book instead?”

“You’re here to supervise me,” says Crowley, seriously. “Prevent any crepe burnings or milkshake escapes. You’re my lucky charm.” Immediately realizing that what he'd called Aziraphale was saccharinely sweet, his shoulders rise and attempt to become indistinguishable from his chin.

Aziraphale is helplessly charmed. Deciding to spare Crowley, he says, "If I recall, you've already confessed to having aided that jailbreak.”

“Wile, thwart!” says Crowley, visibly relieved, and uses the spatula to point at himself and Aziraphale in turn.

“You thwarted yourself,” says Aziraphale. “You’re the one of us who switched off the blender. And," he adds, remembering what Crowley had let slip, "did I hear you say crepes?”

Crowley looks as though he might deny it before he gives a dramatic sigh. “Ruin your surprise, why don’t you,” he says.

“It was a lost cause the moment I entered the kitchen, dear. I am capable of olfaction.”

“I know you’re capable of saying the word smell, angel,” says Crowley. He waves the spatula at his nose. “Say it with me: smell.”

“Olfaction,” says Aziraphale, and bears witness to Crowley cycling through all the stages of grief within the span of a second. He resists the urge to laugh. “Oh, you’re one to talk. In what universe would deliberately sabotaging your own milkshake be reasonable? Much less as a distraction!”

“In this one, clearly,” says Crowley. “Come on. You can’t say you weren’t distracted.”

“As far as gambits go, that was one of your worse ones,” Aziraphale informs him.

“Ouch, angel. You’ve wounded me.”

“It’s very outlandish, as well.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you know it, the crepes have finished cooking,” says Crowley, turning to shut off the fire. “If you’re going to stay here and spout slander, you may as well help with setting the table.”

“Given up on the surprise, I see,” says Aziraphale, already standing up.

“You’re impossible,” Crowley complains, but allows Aziraphale to kiss him on the corner of his mouth anyway.

Aziraphale watches Crowley become so engrossed with making sure their crepes have the ‘best damn toppings in history’ that his tongue is poking out of his mouth. As far as mornings go, it’s one of the best he’s had, but really, Aziraphale has thought that of every morning he’s spent with Crowley. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> i saw people talking about picking out titles meanwhile here i am completely giving up. was great participating in this! have a good day <3!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Croissants in the Cottage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656927) by [Scrumptious_Bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumptious_Bastard/pseuds/Scrumptious_Bastard)
  * [Croissants in the Cottage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656927) by [Scrumptious_Bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumptious_Bastard/pseuds/Scrumptious_Bastard)




End file.
